


Stay

by PuddingTown



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I cheated and slipped in a coffee shop setting, M/M, lots of nostalgia CAUSE I GUESS I'M GOOD AT THAT, this is a gift tho and I hope you enjoy your Stanlon are soulmates juice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 12:13:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18073205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuddingTown/pseuds/PuddingTown
Summary: In need of a favor, Mike reunites with Stan after a less than favorable split. Of course, it's hard to keep soulmates apart, the same way it's impossible to keep magnets apart.





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tinyarmedtrex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyarmedtrex/gifts).



> The happiest of birthdays to my friend, Amelia! Enjoy, my dear~

**_“Hello. My name is Michael Hanlon”_ **

_Frowning, Mike deleted the sentence, typing a new one._

**_“Growing up in Derry, Maine”_ **

_Unsatisfied, he deleted the second attempt as well. Lifting his cup, he sipped at the tea, grimacing. Cold. Glancing at the clock, he saw he’d been writing for approximately four hours - and he used the term “writing” quite loosely. Sighing, he stood and began searching the kitchen for coffee. Certainly he hadn’t forgotten to buy more._

_Except... yes. He did, in fact, forget._

_“Come on, Mikey,” he chided himself, grabbing his jacket. With a pause and second thought, he packed his laptop and brought it along. The stores were closed, but his apartment was on the same block as a 24/7 coffee shop. A lot of those millennials were writing novels there, so why shouldn’t he? The coffee wasn’t half bad either._

_He ventured out of his building, keys jingling around his finger. A light drizzle dampened his clothes, but he paid no mind. Derry was always wet. Passing the old brick buildings, he set his sights on the large, fake coffee mug fixture, bearing the store name: Average Joe’s. Chuckling, Mike stepped in, a burst of warm air hitting him. The barista didn’t even glance up from wiping the counter as she greeted, “Welcome to Average Joe’s!”_

_As he ordered his coffee and found a cozy place to write, he certainly didn’t think he’d spend another night here. This was a one time thing._

Mike recalled that first trip to Average Joe’s being roughly four years ago. The one time thing turned into him being a regular. He reluctantly learned the names of the baristas and their shifts, the names of the other patrons, what their books were about, and who they all were as people. As much as he didn’t want to become _that guy_ , it was inevitable.

Big Bill Denbrough would’ve been proud.

Now they were both best selling novelists, with a movie deal in the works.

This wasn’t what Mike set out to become. For the longest time, he didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life. It only became glaringly obvious with the completion of this book. If he’d known twenty-two years ago, maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe-

Shutting off the thoughts, Mike couldn’t help but glance at his dusty mail pile. It hadn’t been touched in a decade. The last letter, which wasn’t a letter at all, taunted him from time to time. He didn’t know if it was a form of self-torture or self-discipline, keeping the wedding invitation out like he did. Perhaps he used it for motivation.

Rubbing his face in his hands, he took another breath. Today mattered more than any other day in the last couple decades. Grabbing his coat, and the documents he needed signed, Mike left his new house for the coffee shop. This time, he wasn’t going to face his fears in writing. He was going to tackle everything head-on.

* * *

_“Mike-”_

_“Just leave, Uris. You made your choice-”_

_“Michael, will you just listen to me?!” Stan pleaded. Mike didn’t look up from the engine he was tuning. He busied himself with car repairs, avoiding his boyfriend all week. After four solid years together, not including their entire life of friendship, the end was finally in sight. Their lives crumbled with every step, and Mike knew this was the end of the line. Either one of them could fall off the edge, into the deep, dark unknown. If he knew what the future held, he might’ve clung to Stan tighter. He might not have pushed his boyfriend over to save himself._

_“Plead your case, Stanney. Come on. Practice on me,” he taunted, his voice lifeless. He didn’t need to see Stan to know there were tears in his eyes._

_“You’re being an asshole,” he whispered, the misery oversaturating his tone. Mike stared at the ground, which was still a mistake. He saw a teardrop hit the dirt, darkening the spot. Biting his lip, he pretended to use his wrench on one of the knobs. “Baby, look at me. Please-”_

_“Stan,” Mike’s voice was distant in his own ears. It felt like it belonged to someone else. His father, maybe, with the authority that silenced both of them. Stan didn’t move until he absolutely needed to wipe his eyes on his sleeve. “Go to Georgia. Get your education. We knew this was coming-” Stan stomped his foot._

_“Bullshit, we knew this was coming!_ **_You_ ** _knew this was coming! I’ve been wanting to plan out what we’d do after graduation. I offered to help you with the SAT, I suggested with fill out applications together, and do you remember what you told me?” he demanded. Stan shook with fury, shoving Mike away from the truck. His arm knocked the support beam, and the hood slammed shut. Stan’s eyes were red and wet with tears. A few already ran down his cheeks._

 _“Stan-”_ _  
_ _“You said! You_ **_said_** _! You looked at me, you pet my hair, and you said, ‘My baby, my baby, I’ve got it taken care of!’ That’s what you said to me, Michael Hanlon!” Stan shrieked. “What did you mean? Did you know you were gonna dismiss me like this? What have the last six months_ **_been_** _?” The tears fell like a stream now, and all Mike wanted to do was brush them away and apologize._

_But he knew better._

_There was no college fund for him. There were no acceptance letters. He was meant to stay in Derry and take over his father’s car dealership. Stan could get out and do whatever he wanted, but Mike wouldn’t be able to contribute. Not the way he wanted. All their fantasies of having an apartment in New York were just that: fantasies._

_“I’ve loved you for a long time, Stan,” he began. Stan heard the ‘but,’ coming - Hell, Mike’s mother, all the way inside the house, could probably hear it. “But all good things come to an end.”_

_“Fuck you,” Stan whimpered, turning away. Mike had thirty seconds before he disappeared. Stan paused at the door of the garage, hoping his boyfriend would stop him._

_Twenty-five._

_Neither of them moved. Mike’s heartbeat was in  his head. He hadn’t felt a swoop in his stomach this big since their first kiss. Richie found weed in his brother’s room, and brought it to the clubhouse for them to share. His dumb ass actually asked Mike if he knew how to roll a joint. All of them clowned on Richie until the peace pipe was passed, the losers accidentally hot boxing themselves. While they lied around the Barrens, eating Twinkies and Pizza Hut that Eddie Corcoran reluctantly delivered down to them, Mike snuggled up to Stan, humming as he pet his hair._

_Mike remembered it like yesterday, how hot Stan’s breath suddenly was on his face. Nobody noticed Mike lift his head to press his lips against Stan’s. Nobody heard Stan’s soft whimper as Mike slipped him some tongue._

_The moment vanished in Mike’s eyes like smoke._

_Fifteen seconds._

_The door to Stan’s car creaked as it opened. Mike helped him pick it out, offering tune ups and oil changes in exchange for some drive-in movie sex. He heard Stan’s laugh so crisp and clear, chills ran up his spine._

_Ten._

_Stan started the car, the gravel crunching beneath the tires._

_Five._

_Mike’s feet moved on their own accord, following Stan outside. They made eye contact, Mike partially inside the garage, Stan crying in his car. Taking a breath, Stan drove off._

_Zero._

* * *

Breathing in the scents of coffee and pastry, Mike settled into the warmth of familiarity. Since his book launched, and the movie deals came in, he hadn’t been to Average Joe’s in a while. Never in his wildest dreams did he picture himself sharing a table with Stanley Uris. Hell, he didn’t expect to ever see him again, let alone be in the same room. The idea left him anxious, and instead of his usual order, he asked for tea. When he took the cup to a booth far in the corner, angled perfectly to see everyone walking in, he wondered if this moment ever would’ve come had he not made such a disappointing cup of cold tea four years ago.

However, he didn’t have time to ponder all the different choices he could’ve made.

The bell over the door chimed, and Mike glanced up, doing a double take when he realized Stan walked in. Half an hour early. Just like him. He almost smiled, but the entirety of his body froze.

Stan’s curly hair was slicked back, a small stripe of gray above his ear. His frown lines were deepened, crows feet at his eyes when he squinted now. There were glasses hanging off his nose, which he pushed up with his middle finger. Mike’s breath caught in his throat; he didn’t see a wedding ring. His mind flashed to the invitation still resting on his kitchen counter. He read the card a million times, wondering what the venue in Georgia would look like, and if the rings were bronze like Stan always described in their youth. His vision for his wedding was vivid. Mike couldn’t stomach him sharing it with anyone else.

Standing, Mike lifted his hand to wave.

“Stan!” he called, his mouth curling up into a smile. Stan turned his head, his lips parting when he saw Mike.

Twenty-two years and they still stopped each other dead in their tracks.

“Mike Hanlon,” he breathed, holding out his arms as he approached. Mike didn’t hesitate to hug him tight, breathing in his scent, which threw a grenade of history into his brain. A flurry of the past flashed, and for a moment, he forgot to let go of Stan. “You look good for a middle aged writer.” The teasing in his tone made Mike chuckle. Same old Bird Boy.

“And you don’t look half bad yourself, for a married man,” he joked, although the expression on Stan’s face told him this wasn’t a good one. “What?” Stan shook his head, shoving his left hand into his pocket.

“Uh, Pat and I divorced a few years ago-”  
“Oh Hell, Stan, I’m sorry-”  
“No, no! It’s fine, you didn’t know,” he dismissed, waving his hand. He licked his lips, contemplating what he was going to say next before laughing. “It’s not like you came to the wedding.” Mike’s brow rose, and he nudged Stan’s shoulder playfully.

“You think you’re slick, huh, Uris?” Mike asked, shaking his head. Stan smiled, walking away to order his own drink. Drinking some of the tea, Mike watched from the table, wondering what to say next. The manila folder on the table glowed in his peripheral vision. Suddenly he wanted to forget all about it. His publicist arranged the flight and hotel for Stan, meeting him at the airport and telling him where to find Mike, but with all that said and done... He wanted this to continue feeling like a warm reunion.

Not a business deal.

“I can’t believe how much is still here,” Stan said as he returned, sitting across from Mike and pulling him from his thoughts. “The library, the school, the mall... Nothing’s changed.” Mike let out a nervous laugh.

“Nothing at all,” he agreed, knowing full well he included how he felt about Stan. Biting his lip, he racked his brains for another approach to this meeting. He wanted Stan to _stay_ , but it was too late to ask for that now.

“So... You flew me out here for a reason,” Stan observed, breaking the silence. Mike mentally swore, trying to keep calm. Blurting out anything would’ve been better than letting Stan take the wheel on the conversation. “Nobody drops that kind of money for no reason, I assume somethi-”

“Why did you come back, Stan?” Mike interrupted, biting the inside of his cheek once the words fell out. Stan’s brow furrowed, offense clear in his expression. “No- I- I’m glad you’re here, I just- I didn’t...” Closing his eyes to avoid Stan’s penetrative stare, he took a deep breath. “I didn’t know if you would. I stopped believing you’d ever set foot in Derry again.” At this, he heard Stan scoff. When he opened his eyes, Stan was still glaring.

“You’re the one who told me to leave, remember?” he asked, defensive. Mike held up his hands in surrender.

“It was a mistake-”

Stan cackled, throwing his head back as he laughed. A sense of desperation washed over Mike. They went from small smiles to glares and tension in the blink of an eye, much too fast for him to grab hold of the situation. He wanted better for them. He wanted Stan to cancel the hotel and stay at his house, where they’d talk about life, and forget his book entirely.

“I’m glad you figured that out twenty years after the fact-”  
“Twenty-two,” he corrected Stan without meaning to.

Stan didn’t speak. He stared at Mike for a long minute, the seconds dragging for an eternity.

“What was she like?”  
“What?”

Mike stirred his tea, knowing it would get cold if he didn’t drink it. At this point, he didn’t care. Clearing his throat, he repeated himself, “Your ex-wife. What was she like? What was being married like?” His voice was so soft, Stan couldn’t help but soften up himself. He knew when Mike Hanlon was wounded, and his glare wouldn’t help anything. His shoulders relaxed, and he sat up straighter, thinking back to his marriage with Patricia Blum. While he truly did love her, he supposed he knew from the wedding day, they weren’t going to last until he made drastic changes. Stan Uris fully believed he had, but when no one named Michael Hanlon stood up to say _I object_ , and no one with his perfectly pearly radiant smile congratulated him with longing in his eyes, and a need to win Stan back... he couldn’t deny the disappointment weighing his heart down.

“Patty was great. She was fun and quirky, an amazing mother-” Stan went rigid the same time Mike did.

“You had children?” he asked. Somehow, the longing in Mike’s eyes wasn’t as satisfying as Stan always imagined.

“A daughter. We named her Jennifer, after one of Pat’s aunts,” he explained. Taking his phone from his pocket, he pulled up pictures. “She’s thirteen now. Crazy how time flies.” Although Mike didn’t want to see the pictures of Stan’s life without him, he looked anyways.

“She has your smile,” he commented. “Your ears too. I’m sure she hates that.” Stan laughed, his whole body shaking with it. Mike felt a sharp sting in his chest; for a moment he thought he was having a heart attack. Dying was probably better than _pretending_ to live for another two decades.

But in one swift moment, he decided the meeting _would_ be nothing more than a business deal.

Stan had a life, a history, outside of him. Their time was done. Mike cut him out and this was his sentencing, no chance for parole. If he held onto the hope that fluttered in and out through this meeting, he’d just dig himself deeper into his early grave. Stan was happy. Who was he to interfere with that again?

Sliding the envelope over, he offered a small smile before standing up.

“I’m supposed to sweet talk you into signing these papers, so I have full permission on broadcasting the story to the world. I told them I could just change the names, but since they already know it’s you... no dice,” he explained. Stan’s brow furrowed in confusion. “There’s a copy of the book in there; all the parts you need to know of are highlighted. If you don’t want to sign it, just drop it off at my house tomorrow. I’m on Palmar, the only house there, you know.” His smile, clearly forced, never wavered as he walked off. He disappeared too fast for Stan to stop him, and for a second time, Stan felt his heart stop in Derry, Maine.

* * *

_I started writing in hopes of preserving all the stories, and the rich history, my father taught me. Over time, it became a battle of myself versus my life story, and all the ways my father's influence shaped me. In the end, my life story really only came down to one thing: a love story. I set out to write what made me who I am today, writing these words, letter by letter... and here I am, with the best understanding of myself that I’ve ever had before. I’m forty, going on forty-one, and I’m still in love with the boy I grew up with. I miss you, Stan._

Mike read and reread the last paragraph of his novel, his leg bouncing. He couldn’t sit still to save his life. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was now midnight. A new day. That sounded better than “ _six hours ago, I abandoned Stan in a coffee shop_.” He wanted to go back the moment the door shut behind him, but much to his disappointment, he carried himself back to his house. He couldn’t call this place home, no, because home was sitting in Average Joe’s, wondering what the Hell happened to them.

 _Well I’m wondering too,_ Mike thought, pinching the bridge of his nose and massaging with his thumb and forefinger. His eyes darted to where the wedding invitation had been, forgetting already he threw it out. No more need for it. He knew the ending now. Slamming his fist on the counter, Mike turned to look at the door. _What am I doing?_

Nothing stopped him from going to find Stan. He just wanted to talk. He wanted their friendship back. He wanted-

“Stan.”

Mike, with his jacket halfway on, yanked open the door, fully prepared to walk all the way to Stan’s hotel.

But there he was, right at his doorstep. He held Mike’s book in one hand, his thumb between the cover and last page. A breeze blew past them, rustling the chimes.

“Mike-”

Before he could say another word, Mike closed the distance between them. Stan dropped the book; Mike held his face and Stan’s hands flew up to hold onto his forearms. The moment their lips met felt like a lightning strike. It was hungry. Greedy. They hardly broke apart. Mike’s forehead rested against Stan’s, the longing still in his eyes twenty-two years later.

“I should’ve asked you to stay,” he whispered, running his thumb over Stan’s cheek.

“Try now,” he said quietly, staring so far into Mike’s eyes, he felt Stan in his soul. God, he missed him.

He missed how smooth Stan’s face was. How small his hands were, and how they fit neatly in his. How his hair curled and poofed overnight, and how grumpy he would be in the mornings while Mike brushed it all out. He missed their late nights in the freshly plowed wheat fields just outside Derry’s town limits, when they could talk until the sun rose again.

Kissing Stan firmly, Mike pulled his body in close.

“Don’t go. Stay with me, Stan. Stay with me, and I’ll take care of you. Bring Jennifer, if you want. I wanna meet her. We can adopt our own if you want. Marry me. Love me like I love you, Stan. Just don’t leave again. Please?” he begged, his arms around Stan’s hips. Stan couldn’t fight the smile, the tears threatening in his eyes.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, beaming as he leaned in to kiss Mike again. The first, he hoped, of billions more to come.


End file.
